This is My Life
by snowprincess
Summary: Take a trip into the mind of Abby Lockhart as we live through a day in her view set during season 8.
1. Default Chapter

Title: This is My Life

Author: Snowprincess

Rating: PG-13 for swearing

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Go bug someone that does.

Summary: Take a trip into the mind of dear Abby Lockhart as we live through a day in her view set during Season 8.

Author's note: Some may ask as to why I write a fic set two years ago, but I have one simple reason: I have no memory of what happened in season 9 and I've missed season 10 completely due to bad scheduling and sports getting in the way. And until I can catch the TNT reruns, I will have no clue as to what's happened lately.

* * *

There are some days when I want time to stop; everything is so wonderful and perfect. I feel alive and joyful, and nothing can touch me in my world. Then there are the days that I want to take that same world and hurl it against the nearest wall. Usually, those days coincide with an activity that takes up way too much of my time: work. So, it's not surprise that I'm feeling the latter emotion as my alarm calls me to the waking world at three so I can make my five o'clock shift. What can I say, I value sleep over money.

Swallowing a groan I force myself up and into the bathroom where I fumble with the shower until I'm awake enough to remember that I need light. Then I crank the temperature down and step inside, yelping at the cold. It was a good way to wake up though when you are short on caffeine and/or don't have time to make any. And judging my previously mentioned priority, you already know that I forgo caffeine for sleep. I crank the temperature back up and sigh in bliss. I needed to hurry and get into work before the redhead and the disgruntled clerk had my hide again. I've already been late three times this week because of the love of my bed.

As I stand under the spray, I strain my ears in an attempt to hear a sound from another apartment. Anything to tell me that I'm not the only one getting up this early to relieve a graveyard shift. But things have actually been quiet since Brian and Joyce went away. . . Well, except for the newlyweds who moved in a couple doors down. But I can't even hear them, they must have gotten to the post marriage exhaustion finally and the adrenaline must've worn off. . . Not that I'm an expert at anything like that. My botch of a marriage wasn't candy and roses. I thought it was based on love, but hey, I was naïve. Now I know it was based on alcohol and coldness. It was only after the abuse started and my depression after my abortion came to a head that I had the guts to leave him. . . And The Whore, but that's a different tale.

I'm contemplating this as I get out and wrap myself in a big towel and head for the living room. The apartment is cold and I can feel goose bumps rising on my skin. I turn on the weather channel since no news programs are on this early and wait for the local report. Oh yay, the forecast to day is rain, and rain, and hey, more rain. And when I go home tonight, it'll be raining harder. As an added bonus, it's spring so it will be cold with out the summer heat to compensate. I groan as this brings the thought of my double shift coming up. 16 hours of torture only because I'm the head nurse and it's my responsibility to cover if I can't find someone else to. Leaving the tv on I go into my room and change into warm clothes that I know will get soaked. Then I make my bed before I can change my mind and crawl inside it, telling the world to solve their own problems for a day.

Within ten minutes I'm done getting ready and am getting my stuff together so I can make the next train. I turn off the tv and grab my keys, locking up firmly. I check my watch and it reveals that I have an hour to get to work; just enough time to stop for coffee. I'm proud of myself; I won't be late today.

I curse the rain and tell myself to buy a cheap umbrella the next time I go shopping as I jog to the El station. This neighborhood at night is like a ghost town and I feel relatively safe making the journey to my station. By the time I get to the overhang of the track, I can feel my double layers sticking to me and I shrug in acceptance. I pay the fee and stand on the platform and wait for the next stop to show. I can already tell it's going to be a long day.

When the train does come to a halt I sadly notice that I'm the only one getting on; the only one riding for that matter. Apparently everyone else is either working or sleeping, lucky bastards. I won't see my bed again until almost eleven tonight and I'm already missing it. Even if I get a nap break, hospital beds just aren't comfortable. They can never compare to the warmth and bliss or your own bed. With a sigh I push those thoughts from my head and choose instead to watch the Chicago night fly by in a blur of colored streetlamps.

Augh, I make a mental note to tell Kerry that she needs to hurry up and hire another nurse, but then a familiar conversation comes into my head. She won't hire another nurse until I interview applicants, a task that she decided last week would be the head nurses' job: my job. Grrr. That's it, today I'm taking a two hour break to find another blasted nurse so I can stop with the damned double shifts. The others have kindly opted to not take a turn and give me a break for the last two weeks since we lost a nurse to a sunny California hospital. Since then, I've been doing double shifts, going home and sleeping right away, and then going back for more work. Granted, I'm getting severe overtime here, I just want the chance to be able to sit down and eat, or sleep for more than five hours. My apartment is starting to look like a war zone, I'm fastly running out of clothes, and the bills are about to expire to their second notices if I can't get some time to sit and write a couple of damned checks. Grrr.

By the time the train stops, my head is filled with curses and wishful thinking upon the unsacrificing nursing staff. I hop down the steps two at a time and curse that as well when I twist my ankle hard and nearly fall headfirst down the remaining flight. I catch myself on the rail and sit for a moment, checking the hurt limb before standing again. Now instead of walking to work, I get to limp because I'm the one who wanted to get off a stop early and get coffee. Grrr. The rain is just an added annoyance at this point. I sigh and begin to try and walk normally, gritting through the pain. Hopefully this will keep it from swelling too much and I'll be able to walk normally by the time I get to work. If I can't, there's always the bottle of Tylenol in my locker.

I walk into the ER with a plastered calm look on my face as I enter the lounge and strip off my watery sponge, shoving it into my locker. I reach up to the top and grab my Tylenol and swallow two with the last bit of my coffee. With a deep breath I grab my scrub top and my stethoscope and begin my long day. Then again, maybe not. . . Oh yeah. . . It's the graveyard shift, no one will be in for treatment until six at least, except for the drunken bums but that means I have a little time left.

I limp slowly to the board and gratefully see that my suspicions were confirmed: there's no one here. I jump as a voice asks behind me, "Are you alright?"

Oh, it's only Luka. There's another subject I don't want to touch at the current moment, thank you. "Yeah I'm fine."

"You're limping," he points to my left foot. Thank you captain obvious.

I shrug, "It's nothing." It's a lie and we both know it: it hurts like hell.

He grabs my arm and drags me to the nearest empty bed. What a jerk, he doesn't even ask if I want it checked out. Or maybe he just knows that I would've said no. . . probably that. I complacently sit and watch as he lifts my leg and places it on the edge, sliding off the shoe and sock. Ow.

I watch as he probes my skin with his fingers, the hurt appendage already showing signs of bruising and swelling. Well doesn't that suck. "How did it happen?"

My irritability must have shown, "Oh I was just so excited to pull another double that I decided to come in faster and have the vortex suck me in longer." He smiled slightly and looked me in the eye. I hate it when he does that. It brings back memories that I want to forget, but don't want to go away. . . It's like we're dating again, the look he gives me, when I know he wants nothing of the sort, and I don't want to get my hopes up. . . Oops. "So what's your professional diagnosis?"

"Stay off your feet."

That's funny. . . But I'm not laughing. I'm going to kill Kerry when she gets in. Grrr.

"Well since that's not going to happen can you give me a better solution?"

"Have you taken anything?"

"Two of Tylenol."

He nods for a moment and goes to an exam room, coming out with a couple of crutches. Hell no. They'll only get turned into hockey sticks if I'm walking around with those. I tell him this and he reluctantly agrees with that assessment. "Go home, Luka. I'll just tough it out."

He gives me that damned look again. . . I'm thanking my lucky stars that he turns away quickly and tells me to take it easy then. I'll see him later anyway, and I expect he'll want to check the ankle when he comes back for his night shift. I get up and go back to admit and see that Frank has returned with his breakfast. . . How he could eat that is beyond me. At least I have some time to look through nursing applications.

I hate you Kerry.

This thought continued through my mind until she walked into the lounge not long after. She gave a cheerful good morning that made me want to smart off and deck her. Instead, I smiled and gave a grunt as I resumed sorting through those that had an interview, and those who had no freakin chance, as Dr. Romano would put it. After throwing the last two in the no chance pile, I handed the other pile to Kerry before she left the room and told her that these people had shown promise.

Oh wait. . . I have to interview them myself. Thanks for reminding me Kerry. . . By the way did I tell you that I hate you? I sigh and sit back down, picking up the phone and dialing the first number. Grrr.

An hour later I am emerging from the lounge once again and finally grabbing my first chart of the day. Yay, the Tylenol took effect while I sat. . . but unfortunately, my ankle stiffened up and now hurt like a mother to bend. While I was hiding the hospital had magically managed to fill up, but meh, that's pretty much normal. I sigh and grab a chart and make my way back to Exam 2. "Mr. Barnes?" I see that it is a frustrated looking business man who is toting a cell phone and a lap top in the middle of important conversations I'm assuming, and yet he still manages to hear me call his name. He quickly exits what he's doing and gives me his full but rushed attention. "What seems to be the problem today?"

"I tripped on my damn stairs this morning and hit my head. Now all I'm seeing is blurs, and I've got a headache the size of Texas."

"Alright, well I'm going to check you out and then the doctor will come and see you." I go through the motions and give my usual exam. Ask the usual questions, yada yada yada. Any stress? Unusual sores or bruising? Tired more than usual? After writing all relevant things down I nod and tell him the doctor will be in shortly.

Oh yeah, the job interviews. . . "Hey Kerry!" I call, running down the hall to catch up with her as she heads to another exam room. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. . .ow. "I need to clear the lounge out for a couple hours today so I can do job interviews."

She just shakes her head and complains to me, "I need you to work the floor Abby. We're already down and we need experienced people to help move patients."

Sometimes I just want to strangle this woman. "Kerry, I'm dying here! I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in two weeks and if I pull one more double I'm going to lose it!"

"Get another nurse to cover."

"You tell them that."

Crap, she looks pissed but gives into my request, but not for more than two hours. These are going to have to be some rushed interviews. . . Goodbye lunch. I nod in thanks and make my way back to admit, handing off Mr. Barnes to the nearest doctor and grabbing number 2.

Frank turns to face me and I can't help but wonder what happened now. I didn't do it, I swear. "Abby, Connie's called in sick and she needs someone to cover the graveyard shift."

"What?! No no no no no, you call her back and tell her to come in." Apparently, she's got a fever and is puking her intestines out, thanks for sharing Frank. I don't care, I'm too tired to even think of pulling another shift. What did he say? Something about contamination and patients? Fine, stay home then! If I can't find someone to cover, this means I'll have to work until eleven tomorrow night. . .

Please dear God kill me. I've only been on for an hour and I want to go home, and now this garbage. Grrr.

I spend the rest of my morning shuffling from nurse to nurse and hearing the same line over and over, "I'm sorry; I already have plans tonight and I can't cancel them." I know this is a load of crap considering that's the tenth time I've heard it in the last hour alone. No one wants to do a double, so I guess it's Abby's turn to do a triple. Thanks guys, I'll remember this the next time you want to go on strike and have me back you up. What is this, a mutiny? 

"Haleh! Wait! I gotta ask you something!" She turns around and gives me the look. You know that one she gives when she's rushed for time and you had better have a damn good reason for stopping her. "Can you pull a double tonight?" I try to hold off on mentioning that it's the graveyard shift, maybe that's been my downfall all morning.

She grabs another chart and worms her way around me to the phone. "Sorry Abby but I have plans tonight."

I'm getting really frustrated and desperate at this point, "Oh come on! If you don't take the graveyard I'll have to do a triple, and I've been covering for the shortage for the last two weeks." Well, there goes the idea of keeping it silent.

"Sorry dear but now there's no chance." She turns away and begins barking to radiology over the phone and I know this conversation is over.

I groan and decide that caffeine will be my comforter. I look at the clock and gratefully see that the fist applicant is due to arrive at any time. I call out to Frank to send them to the lounge and proceed to raid the fridge for anything edible. Hmm, carrots, leftover cake, someone's sandwich. . . Well, whoever was stupid enough to not label said sandwich would now be going without it, poor sap. And yet, I strangely don't feel guilty at all.

As I'm chewing I head back to the admit desk and grab the folder with all the applicant's files, as well as a pen and a notebook. Behind me I hear someone complain, "Hey Abby, you're eating my lunch!"

"Sorry Carter, triple shift fee. Nurses have to eat too ya know." I can still hear him grumbling while I limp back to the lounge. My fist applicant is there and waiting. "Hi," I greet, not bothering to shake hands. "My name is Abby Ms. . . "

The woman shifts in her seat and answers the unspoken question, "Mrs. Lana Hovett." She seems nice enough right away. Red hair, middle aged, not too skinny but not overweight. Overdressed for the standards of this hospital. It seemed that she has had a lot of experiences with emergency rooms. Husband gets transferred a lot and she's always looking for a new job somewhere else, probably won't be here more than a couple years. Still, long enough for me to find someone else to do this job. . .

Two hours later I am excitedly finding Kerry and telling her that Mrs. Hovett is my choice and that she can start. . . and this is the best part. . . she can start tomorrow during the time when I'm pulling the double shift. Theoretically I can train her and leave early and not be on for almost 12 hours, something that I'm beginning to think is a record. Much to my enjoyment, Kerry agreed and I was sent along my merry way, now counting down the hours until I'm released. I feel like Bart Simpson at school when he watches the clock to get out, and I'm fully expecting the same effect: the clock will start ticking backwards.

The afternoon passes by in the predicted slow rate. With no traumas for over three hours, all that's left to do are minor cases that take longer to solve because of the speediness on lab results. I actually want a trauma because then it'll suck at least an hour of my time and I won't even realize it. So, three sprained ankles, two homeless guys, and five minor lacs, I am utterly bored and angry that the damn clock doesn't seem to want to leave the number four. Only 31 hours to go, 24 if I'm lucky and this new nurse is a hit. Suddenly I'm on top of the world, and it feels great.

Speaking of Bart Simpson, I believe this child in front of me is the carbon copy, only worse. He's even wearing the clothes, down to that damn hat which is covering his only difference: brown hair. I watched him earlier, struggling to run away from his frazzled looking mother and nearly knocking down the soda machine. "I'm not paying you to slump."

Ahh! I whirl around to see the man of the hospital himself: Rocket Romano himself. "Uh, I was just about to go see my next patient. . "

"Or you were about to avoid the little terror sitting in chairs. Show a backbone woman," he tells me. Yeah, if you think I need a backbone, use yours to go and deal with the monster. "No? Then I guess I'll have to do the work around here."

I watch as he walks over to the kid and squats down to his level. "Hey, I bet you wanna be just like Bart Simpson don't ya?" He's rewarded with a vicious "Bite me" and a kick to the shin. I can't stop to breathe, I'm laughing so hard. But I quickly sober up when he glares at me. He turns to the mother at this point and mumbles something about being so proud and I can't help but egg him on.

"So much for a backbone Doctor!"

I smile and limp over to his failed example and go to a knee. The mother smiles and I can tell she's praying that I don't get the repeat performance. Poor woman. "Mrs. Donovic? And this must be Bart?"

"Bite me!" He's about to kick me but I think ahead and stand up.

"Hey hey! Settle down." Geez, quite the vocabulary for a five year old. I look to his mother and smile. "I take it he doesn't like hospitals."

"Only the ones that have needles." Well that's wonderful. "It reminds him of school, where he spends most of his time writing lines for Mrs. Krabbaple." She gives me that look: Please just go along?

I nod and decide that I need to play in this fantasy if I want to treat this kid. I kneel again and try a different approach. "Bart? Would you come with me if I promise that you won't be cornered by Principle Skinner or your teachers?"

I swear the kid is thinking about kicking me again. I want to just hand this off to Carter or something: he likes abuse. But unfortunately, he has to be seen by a nurse first. "I can even try to find you Doctor Hibbert." I really hope Gallant likes smart mouthed kids. Oh God I'm screwed.

I think this persuasion worked and he began to walk away like he owned the place. He better not find the spray paint that was confiscated last week; I can only imagine the havoc he could cause. The mother stands and we begin to follow the tyke. "I'm sorry about him."

"I've never met a five year old who likes Bart that much."

"Ah, his brother is crazy about it, and if the older one watches the show, the younger _has_ to watch it or it's parent hell."

I nod and feel for a moment like I'm divulging a secret, "I think you're in hell anyway."

Mrs. Donovic looks like she's had a sudden revelation as we walk into the empty exam room. I pray for her sanity that she still has time to enact a plan, or "Bart" would drive her to lose her hair, just like poor stressed Marge.

A couple hours later and I am beginning to think I might actually make it through the next day. I pop another dose of Tylenol while on break and grab my nth coffee. The stuff isn't exactly good for me, but I don't care. Besides, it'll only hold me over until I can find my cash and raid the pop machines for the caffeine and the sugar in one dose. Sugar. . . yum. Outside I can hear that we're starting to get busy again, and I'm ever so grateful. It figures on the day that I have to stay for my longest shift yet, is the day where we actually don't get backed up for hours on end. Somebody upstairs obviously doesn't like me or just feels like messing with my head today.

I sigh and push my way through the forming chaos outside. It's still raining, though not as hard as when I left in the morning. More like a drizzle now. I let the cool drops floated by breeze fall on me and cool my body temperature. When the ER fills up with patients, somehow the hospital just seems to rise in temperature that much more. The sounds of cars and the distant El train permeate the silence, but surprisingly no ambulances. Maybe all the traumas were on the other side of the city today. Maybe some distant ER was getting the activity that was usually reserved for us. Lucky bastards, and I will deny ever saying or thinking that.

The rain feels so nice when you're not being soaked by it. Don't get me wrong, as a kid I loved going outside in the rain and just going wild. With Maggie not being like most parents, she never told me to come in so I wouldn't catch a cold. When it rained, it seemed like the world was mine to own and no manic depressive cycle could take that freedom away. As an adult I am more. . . cautious? about the rain. I still love it, but now getting soaked usually produces a hindrance in may day rather than enhancing it like it used to. I am perfectly fine in just holding onto some of the few happy memories of my childhood.

Behind me I hear the ambulance doors opening and closing repeatedly. Patients go in, patients come out, some without even being seen. It's all a routine that I've gotten used to since first being transferred to the department last year. It seems like such a long time ago now. A year ago I was worried about not being able to go back to med school after what Richard did, and now I'm worried about going back after what Luka did. I know he only had my best interests at heart, and he really thought I was going to go back. I forgave him for it almost as soon as he did it, but I was angry at myself and I moved it onto him which was a big mistake on my part.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we had both just taken a breath that night. If we would have taken a moment to calm down and talk about our troubles instead of shouting them in between insults. I know I hurt him with what I said about his marriage, and not a day goes by when I don't regret the look of hurt that I brought upon his face: like that man needs any more pain. And at the same time, I cannot completely forgive what he shouted at me first. Childish I know, but that remark had hurt a lot more than he'll ever begin to understand.

But what would have happened that night if I hadn't insisted we go out? If John hadn't called? If I hadn't so easily lost my temper? What if? I could torture my mind to death with everything that I had done wrong in our relationship, constantly applying those two words and fitting in an appropriate situation. What if I had waited a day to ask him out? What if I had listened to him about going to Oaklahoma? What if I had opened up to him when he had so clearly wanted me to?

There's a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of. I don't have to name them for their memory to already begin to re scar my mind. But I do know that when I was with Luka I was happy, whether or not I showed it. And my damned pride and my inability to trust played a factor in that, which is something I'll never forgive myself for.

"Hello? Earth to Abby. . ." A hand waves itself in front of my face and I realize that someone's trying to talk to me. "Are you home or should I just leave a message?"

I smile at the attempted humor and turn to my pursuer. "I take it you're the emissary coming to tell me that the rest of the staff thinks I've gone MIA?"

"They think you're half way to Canada by now." I turn and face John. "I just came because I was going to go to Doc Magoo's and replace the sandwich that was so kindly eaten."

I can't help but laugh and shake my head, "Sorry." I can tell what he's about to ask and beat him to his own question, "Do you wanna get some coffee and talk?"

Ten minutes later we're sitting in a dry booth staring at the spot we were standing at before. Some conversation going there. . . There are a lot of things that I want to say though, mostly consisting of, "I'm sorry." He gives me a shocked look and I realize that I just thought out loud. I almost didn't hear his reply in the noise of this place. Servers and customers are moving everywhere.

"For what?"

Well, there's no getting out of it at this point. "For putting you into that position; for making you believe that I had feelings for you. It wasn't intentional, it was just that. . . oh forget it." Here we go with the pride.

And he's not taking the bait, "Just what?"

My coffee looks so interesting at this point. I could just stare at it all day than face my feelings and admit that I was wrong. But I know John better than that and I know that I'm not leaving this diner until I tell him everything, and I do mean everything. "John, when I was with him," no need in saying the name and make him mad since we both know who I'm talking about, "things were a lot harder. I've never been in a relationship that needed me to be so openly honest about everything and accept the same from the other person. And you were there, and when you're telling a friend about you're problems it's a lot easier to say what you really need to say. Let's face it, you're like one of the girls-"

"I am not!"

Yeah you are, but I'm not about to argue with you on that point right now. "You were the person that I could go to about everything, when it should have been him. And somewhere along the way I should have realized that I either needed to try and fix things between me and him or move on, but I just couldn't. We didn't exactly start off on a good foot, and things just kept getting in the way. If I wasn't dealing with a problem, then he was. It became too much to handle too soon, and I ended up making you my outlet, and that isn't fair to you.

"Both of us made a lot of mistakes and it ended up forcing us to break off horribly, and we hurt each other. But after we were separate, I began to realize that you were right about a lot of things that day on the river. Carter, I'm sorry I can't love you the way you want me to, but I still love you as a friend."

I look up and I can tell he's still trying to absorb everything I said. Finally he sighs and it's his turn to make a speech. "I'm sorry too about what I said. I know I told you in a bad way how I felt about you and Luka. And as your friend I should have been more supportive and just happy to see that you were happy. But I couldn't help what I was feeling, and I'm glad I told you before it came out in a worse way than it did. I really do want to be your friend, if nothing else."

Well, that's a relief and something I didn't see coming at the same time. I was expecting along the lines of "have a nice life." I bring my cup to my lips and begin to sip the lukewarm liquid before nearly choking back up. "What?"

"Are you in love with him?" he repeats.

I. . . I . . . uh. . . .um. . . What do I say to this? Do I? No, it's impossible. I think we're both too messed up and come with too much baggage to ever truly love someone again. Meanwhile, the rain outside begins falling harder and I can barely see the ambulance bay doors through the heavy drops. I stand, and Carter adopts a confused but apologetic face; he thinks he said something wrong. "Come with me," I tell him before he can begin apologizing.

* * *

TBC

Ok ok, now I have finished the story already, but I'm curious as to what people thought of it. So I'm going to leave a little space and maybe then I could make the second part better before I post it based on what people think now.

Anyways, this will probably be the last full story I have time to do for a while with school starting in (bleh), 8 days.

You all know what I want.

Snow


	2. Conclusion

Hey I'm back!! I want to thank everyone who reviewed for the positive remarks about my writing. I think writing about Abby comes easily to me because I think she's the character I identify with the most on the show. I understand some of the things she goes through and the emotions she feels. But anyways, ur not here to read my rambles. On to the story. . .

* * *

I'm back in Minnesota. The street is empty, everyone's in their homes hiding under warm blankets and toasty fireplaces. And here I am, running outside to embrace the openness. Inside, Eric is playing with his favorite GI Joe that Dad had given him and Mom is locked in her room painting away the day again. Behind me, I can hear Carter jogging to keep up with my frantic pace as I traverse the street to the large sidewalk on the other side. The sky just keeps pouring sheets and I was soaked again before I even finished opening the door.

"Abby what are you doing?!"

I have to know. The only time I've ever felt completely open and in tune with myself was when I was standing in the rain. The outside world just fades away and I can let go of my walls, my pride, and anything that's holding me back. I am a child again, getting away from the stress of a bi polar mother and raising a little brother in a way that no diary can vent. For all the times I've cried, which haven't been many since the age of eight, the rain was always there to wash my tears away.

My eyes close and I begin to walk, trusting that Carter would keep me from getting hit from any traffic. I can feel every insecurity, every pain and anguish, every break in the stream getting washed away, leaving me naked and exposed for myself. This is something I haven't had in a long time, and it leaves me at ease if nothing else.

I open my eyes with at least that much clarity, and to my amazement, I am standing in front of the hospital. More specifically, I am at the bench. Where it all began with him. I kissed Luka at this very spot, nervous about what he'd do, and it had led to a year that I won't forget any time soon, despite all that's happened.

"Abby?"

I turn and see Carter again. Really see him for what he is to me: my best friend. That is something I can say for certainty now that will never change, even in all of the work we have to do to rebuild it. Now he just looks concerned, not understanding my ritual for cleansing my soul. I don't understand it either, but it's what I needed.

I can feel the smile forming on my face and I know that I'm just confusing the hell out of him at this point. I think he's trying to decide if he needs to go find a doctor from psyc. to come evaluate me, or just simply slap me upside the head. I probably don't look that sane, with hair plastered to my face and scrubs hanging on me like I'm a clothesline. I probably look like a drowned rat as a matter of fact. But what the hell do I care? It's just water, and the price is well worth it for my enlightenment. Maybe it was a sign from above, telling me that everything would be alright if I had a little faith. Somewhere I know that would bring a smile to Bishop Stewart's face.

I want to laugh; I feel so elated. Instead I settle for a gaze into the gray clouds above and a quiet sigh. It's then I know my answer, another gift of clarity. "Yes."

I look back to him and I can tell he had already forgotten in favor of worrying over my mental health. "What?"

I just smile and look back up, "I'm in love. . ." It seems so simple to just say that to him, and to myself. But beyond this point I don't know what I'm going to do. So I just turn around and leave Carter to the rain as I walk back into work. Who knows, maybe he'll experience the same thing I just did.

As I walk in I notice a familiar face sitting in chairs. It's good old Mr. Tuttle, probably looking for another sandwich for his unborn twin. I can't help but laugh at that one as I go into the lounge and wring out my hair in the sink. I then go to my locker and proceed to find my comb and brush out my longer hair so it doesn't tangle up and then put it in one of my big clips that I keep around. My girly deodorant falls out and I shake my head, remembering what I said to John about being like one of the girls. I make a mental note to tell Chuny when I get the chance; it's always fun to have the nurses gang up on Carter. He's just so funny when he gets defensive. Oooh, and I should get Jing-Mei and Susan in on this one too. I'm so evil.

My shoes won't stop squeaking and my clothes are leaving a wet trail all over the hallway. "Woah, what happened to you?" Frank asks me. I'm careful not to touch anything for fear of him complaining about my soakedness.

"I went for a walk."

"In the rain?"

"So? What's wrong with it? Acho!" Oh, so that's what's wrong with it. Apparently I've finally caught my cold, and on today of all days. It's so wonderful to be me. I rub my nose, trying to remove the itchiness inside that makes me want to sneeze again and mumble, "Find Mr. Tuttle over there a sandwich will you? It'll save the admit work and spare a bed."

"Do I look like I work in a cafeteria?"

"Frank, just do it!" He just grumbled at me and walked away, presumably to the cafeteria. I sneeze and again and shout my thanks down the hall, but I don't know if he understood it.

Maybe my rain walk wasn't the best idea I've ever had. I can feel the goose bumps again, I've already begun to sneeze, and if I catch another cool draft from the air systems I'm going to start shivering. Apparently someone agrees with that assessment, because I swear I can hear someone yelling at me to change. I don't even bother to see who it is, I just head for the linen closet and grab a new set of scrubs.

I switch clothes quickly and don't bother to keep my sweatshirt on. I'll take an oversized scrub t-shirt over a twenty pound sweatshirt any day. Making sure my soaked pockets are empty of my ID and anything else that's important, I dump the soaked scrubs into the linen bin in the hall and toss my shirt onto a chair in the lounge. I'm just walking out as Carter finally comes in, much in the same state that I was in a few minutes ago.

"Geez Carter, you look a little wet."

"Oh yeah. And you had no part in that?"

I put my arms up, "I just asked you to come with; it was your decision to follow me."

He just smiles and whips his head around like a dog, trying to spray me with water again. I back up and tell him to not even think about it. I grab a chart and run down the hall. I'll just leave him to dry off before I egg him on again.

Dinner hours come and go before I even notice. I guess I just threw myself into my work and refused to think about how long I actually had to do before I could leave. Soon it's nearing ten and I realize that I'm getting tired. Damn, and here I am with a possible 24 hours left to go? Please say Lena is a fast learner, please? I've been good lately right? I need a break from you, please?

And now someone's going to think I'm fascinated with ceilings, because I'm looking up as I'm thinking this. Wow, that's a lot of spots. I wonder how many are on this floor alone. Too many for me to ever begin to count. I sneeze again and reach into my pants pocket for a tissue I had shoved in at some point.

"Ooh, someone shouldn't have been out in the rain today," I look and see the taunt has just come from Carter. He's changed into scrubs as well. "You caught the cold we've always been threatened with."

"Thanks for informing me Carter. How come you didn't get this punishment?" I ask irritably.

"Because I'm a good boy and warm myself right when I walked in."

Ha ha. I'm not laughing. "Yeah well we all can't be that lucky. Is there something you need?"

He hands me a chart and I look at it. 30 year old with severe vomiting. I know what he wants before he can even say it at that point. "Yeah can you give this guy ten of composine before he uses all of the emesis basins in central supply? And he needs rehydration."

I nod and write the order down before beginning to walk away. "Hey Abby?" I turn back and he's just smiling. I smile back and walk towards the exam room. "You're gonna be fine!" he calls back. And I know he's not just talking about the cold.

About an hour of what I am dubbing as Barfing Brad, I limp back to the admit desk. My ankle had numbed a bit during the day, and now after not doing much for a while, it's starting to hurt again. I look at the board and realize that Carter has gone off, because his name is no longer listed under BB. "Frank, who did Carter give the ralphing man to?" I sneeze again and while I rub my nose, someone grabs the chart from my hands.

"Are you alright Abby?" The voice tells me the night shift must have started without me noticing. I turn and see that it's Luka. "How's your ankle?"

I shrug and take out another kleenex. "It's better than it was. Now I just have to deal with my new cold."

"You should go home and rest." He looks genuinely concerned. Why do you care Luka? We're done, regardless of what I may feel.

Instead, I am reminded that I cannot, so I just half laugh and mutter, "I wish."

"Why what's wrong?"

I tell him my predicament and just say that I'll go take a nap later when I need it. I can tell he wants me to go home and just leave the ER short staffed, but I don't want to take more crap from Kerry anytime soon. Before he can protest any more I grab another chart and lose him in the fray of people. You know, I really don't think that this hospital is that understaffed. I'm easily garbled in the colors of other nurses roaming the floor, and yet I almost never see them doing any work. It confuses me sometimes, because I know that they have to be working or they wouldn't be there, but when we're slammed, it never seems like there are enough nurses to cover the load.

I can't help but think back to Luka. I know I was acting like a jerk, but I just don't want to deal with him right now. I know that even though we didn't exactly part in the best of ways, he does care about me. If he didn't, he wouldn't have told me about how he had gone and beaten up Brian after he had assaulted me, and he wouldn't have checked up on me as often as he did. I'm just not sure about how deep his feelings go, and I'll be damned if I'm going to go on a whim and put myself in a position to be hurt again.

This is unbelievable. We spend all that time together going pretty much nowhere because we both suck at communicating what we really feel, and now that we're not dating, it seems like we've taken a bigger step than we did when we were. Now all of a sudden neither of us seem to have a problem in telling the other our thoughts and opinions about certain things. We were able to do it right away too, because I can remember some of the talks we had while he was with Nicole, and it was like he and John had reversed roles. Luka and I could talk almost about anything and we made it seem like nothing had happened between us, and for a while Carter and me would have the silence that had hovered over the old relationship.

What the hell is wrong with us?! We have better communication apart than we have when we're together, and Carter and I were better friends when we were together and not apart. Although I've come to understand some of the reasons behind the latter one. This just confuses me now, augh. Oh well, best not to ponder it until I've gotten some sleep and have a bowl of ice cream in front of me. That way, when I get frustrated from not finding a solution, I can just melt my problems away in the form of raw cookie dough.

After checking in on BB, I go towards my new customer. Hmm, maybe this will be a good case for Gallant. Nothing like making a med student take stool samples. . . Damn, he got off when Carter went home. Oh well, it was wishful thinking. So instead, I get the joy of gloving up and diving in. That little chore done with, I run the sample to the lab, drop off the chart for a doc to grab and make my rounds to replace IV bags. I don't think the patients were liking the fact that I was beginning to yawn in between sneezes, so I just tell them that the former is just a side effect of the latter, which is a side effect of allergies. No use in making them nervous about me getting them sick, and I only have the sniffles anyway.

"Randi, what time is it?" I feel like I've been steamrolled as I drag myself back to the admit desk. I drop into a chair beside her and look at the magazine she's reading. . . There's no way in hell I'll ever wear that. It's. . . . dental floss? Eww. I spot the other page has horoscopes and I quickly read mine before she asks for it anyway.

'Your life has taken a turning point when the moon comes into alignment with Pluto this month. Take some time to evaluate what you want in your life and then go for it. Lucky days:. . .'

Just as I hit the last part Randi blows a particularly loud bubble that pops upon breech. I'm not totally sure I read it right, or the right sign. In all the years that I've ever bothered to glance at my horoscope for fun, it's never fit what was going on in my life. This has to just be a coincidence.

"Hey Abby what's your sign?"

"Can't tell. There's like an age limit on those things, don't read after the age of sixteen."

"Ha ha," she mocks through her chewing gum. "Mine says that true love is just around the corner and that I shouldn't wait to make the first move."

I suddenly need coffee, so I quickly excuse myself before I can do anything that would make her mad or cause me to burst out laughing. If I had a nickel for every time she got that horoscope I could buy that stupid line and destroy the rights to it so no one could ever use it again.

The lounge is blissfully empty. The fridge is agonizingly decimated. I need food too ya know. I notice dismally that the coffee is gone as well. I don't care, I'm too tired and lazy to dig around for the stuff to make more, so I'm just going to leave it for the next poor coffee seeking sucker. I take a falling land onto the couch and stretch all the way across it. It feels so good just to lay down and rest my head. I close my eyes and think about. . . nothing. And everything.

I hear the door open but don't bother to open my eyes. The person's footsteps stop just after entering, probably because they have just spotted me and think I'm asleep. I suppose I have to at least give some kind of greeting. "Hey to whoever you are."

I hear the freezer open and am tempted to remark that if they're looking for food they had better look somewhere else. Instead I think they've figured it out for themselves as it closes minutes later. Then the cupboards are being opened. Hmm, maybe the coffee seeking sucker has finally come to make coffee for the rest of us, because the general rule is: he who makes the coffee, never actually gets any. By the time it's done that person has likely been called away and when they return for their ever prized cup, it's gone again.

This train of thought leads me to a pre-sleep bliss. That however, is interrupted by a sudden cold jolt to my ankle. "Eek!" My eyes open and I finally see that the person is none other than Luka. And the cold jolt? He had come in and gotten some ice from the freezer and wrapped it in a thin towel to put on my appendage. "What are you doing? That's cold?" What have I been, reduced to a six year old with no medical knowledge other than my tummy hurts or it's cold?

Thankfully, he ignores my last statement and proceeds to lift my foot up before placing it back down on a pillow, rearranging the ice again. He looks up at me and smiles slightly, "Does that feel any better?"

I nod and look at the clock on the microwave. I wish I could see the numbers, I really do. All I see is a green blur. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight." He comes and stands beside the couch, hands in his pockets. He's rocking himself back and forth, and it reminds me off a jittery little kid that needs to keep moving or they'll be easily distracted. We both just stay how we are for a few moments, and I think neither of us have an idea of what to say. He finally clears his throat and begins to excuse himself, "I'll let you get some rest."

Just before he reaches the door I call his name. "Thank you," and I mean for more than the ice. Thank you for caring. He knows it too and just nods before opening the door. I close my eyes again, and prepare to fall asleep, but the door hasn't closed yet. He must be just standing there, maybe thinking of something he wanted to say. He must have decided against it, and the door closes seconds later.

I fall asleep to visions of the rain. Of me and Luka, taking a walk, and getting soaked along the way.

* * *

END

I know this could have probably gone on longer, and could at least finish out Abby's shift, but I decided that this was a good place to stop, since her day was really over. When she woke up, she would be starting a new one.

There is a possibility that I will write a conclusion to this story, but I wanna know if there's an interest for it first. So, don't be shy about telling me what you think.

Anyways, gotta go.

Snow


End file.
